The Bay of Mermaids

By Majia Comella

You are invited to join Marin and her exuberant sister Gen on vacation in Cornwall, where they attend a seaside wedding. During their stay, Marin is acutely aware of the mysterious people who staff the old resort where the wedding is held. She is particularly drawn to Geoffrey, who challenges her to feel her emotions and overcome fear. In the process, Marin discovers an ancient world that coexists with the modern one in this remote and scenic land.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Mar 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504328500

Majia Comella

The author loves the sea. With degrees in oceanography and geology, she has taught oceanography and environmental science at the college level. Her interest in Cornwall was piqued by a vacation there. She currently commutes by ferry between San Juan Island and Seattle, with the surrounding emerald-green water providing inspiration.

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Copyright © 2015 Majia Comella.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5043-2849-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-2851-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-2850-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015902986

Balboa Press rev. date: 4/9/2015

CONTENTS

1    Odd Dreams

2    Walking In The Sand

3    The First Of Many Rehearsals

4    A Strange Image

5    Geoffrey

6    Beyond The Portal

7    Secret Party

8    View From The Ruins

9    Night Swim

10    Running Water

11    The Wedding

12    Something On The Beach

About The Author

To the mermaids

Thank you Sheelin for encouragement, Dixie and Liz for editing,

and Doreen for prompting a major life change.

1

ODD DREAMS

If Marin knew what lay ahead of her, she might not have made the trip; but then again, she might have. Secretly thrilled to be in Cornwall, she was also exhausted. The trip from the northwestern corner of the United States to the southwestern tip of England had been a travel marathon. One more hour and she would reach her destination. Slouched in the front seat of an old tour bus, her dark blue mohair coat wrapped around her and her light brown hair a tousled mess, she watched the scenery slip by as if in a dream sequence. Pastures and hedgerows in all shades of green appeared and disappeared in the window frame of the bus. Mint-green field. Forest-green hedgerow. Kelly-green pasture. Beyond the tidy fields and hedgerows lay the highland moors, with patches of rusty green and burnt yellow.

Marin was headed to a resort on the scenic coast of Cornwall to attend her aunt’s wedding. Ten years older than Marin, Trish had always seemed like an older sister rather than an aunt. Now Trish was about to marry into wealth—a lot of wealth. Trish, who had always been ostentatiously proper and pathologically competitive, wanted to share—or more likely show off—her good fortune. So Trish had invited twenty-five relatives and friends to spend a one-week vacation, all expenses paid, with her at a small seaside resort. The week would culminate with Trish’s wedding to Franklin Farnsworth Deheubarth III and Trish’s metamorphosis into Mrs. Franklin Farnsworth Deheubarth III. Being a mid-September wedding, the theme was The Harvest. Marin smiled wryly as she reclined in the bus seat. Yes, Trish was definitely harvesting her man. Knowing her aunt Trish, Marin thought a Halloween wedding with the theme of Trick or Treat! would be more appropriate.

To get to this point on her journey, Marin had awakened at 4:00 a.m. on the previous day, taken a one-hour ferry ride from the island where she lived to the mainland, ridden an airport shuttle bus for three hours, navigated airport ticketing and security lines for another two hours, endured a monotonous ten-hour flight shoehorned into the heart of the economy section, anxiously waited an hour for her bags to appear, and now had spent five comatose hours on the bus with a brief rest stop somewhere along the way. At first there had been the white noise of babbling conversations as seatmates got to know each other, but now it was just the hum of the bus engine and the occasional shifting of gears. Marin had started to wonder if the effort to attend her aunt’s wedding was worth it.

As much as Marin had dreaded the long trip, her pumpkin-colored bridesmaid dress, and some of her relatives, she was looking forward to the down time and introspective distance the trip would provide. Work had been incredibly busy that summer. As a freelance grant writer for several clients, she had pulled long days for weeks on end in order to meet deadlines. Now she was having second thoughts about a profession that kept her too busy to enjoy the brief Pacific Northwest summers. As if that weren’t enough, she also taught a night class at the local community college. The heavy workload had left her exhausted and numb.

At age twenty-seven, Marin had also broken up with her first serious boyfriend since college. Duane left her for an old girlfriend who just happened to be visiting the small town where she and Duane lived. His ex-girlfriend had no reason to be in town other than to get reacquainted with Duane. Marin kept consoling herself that if he was the kind of guy who would dump her for a flirty ex, it was best she found out now. Marin stared at the dirty floor of the bus. It still hurt.

While Marin hoped to forget her ex and work, at least temporarily, she was also looking forward to spending a week by the sea; she loved the ocean. Her earliest childhood memories were of visiting her grandmother’s beach house. She could recall running on the cool sand first thing in the morning when there was no one else on the beach, building sand forts that melted in the waves as the tide crept in, and collecting shells along the edge of the land, sea, and sky.

This one-week vacation on a foreign shore would make the grueling journey worth it. It would rejuvenate her. What made it even better was that her sister Genevieve, who was asleep in the seat behind her, had been able to join her. Gen was her best friend, and together they would be able to laugh at the gaudy bridesmaids’ costumes and the other indignities of their aunt’s wedding. While Gen was three years older than Marin, Gen’s lighthearted nature made her appear to be the younger of the two. Marin peeked over the back of the seat at her sister. Gen was cocooned in a light blue overcoat; only the tangle of her strawberry-blonde hair was visible.

Marin turned back in her seat and studied the green landscape through the bus window. As an amateur plein air artist, she had brought her sketchbook, watercolor pencils, and oil pastels with her, hoping to capture the trip in drawings. Scenes reeled by under a gray, overcast sky, one pasture after another. This emerald-green field filled with cows the color of powdered cocoa. That one filled with puffy white sheep reminiscent of marshmallows. A crumbling stone house. More marshmallow sheep. A collapsed stone tower. Black-and-white ponies on a kelly-green field. No people. Where are the people? she wondered. More cows, dark chocolate this time. The dark-chocolate cows reminded Marin that she had not eaten anything since the stale breakfast sandwich on the airplane. She fished around in her backpack for a bag of chocolate raisins. As she sorted through toiletries, travel papers, and other trip necessities, she was vaguely aware that the bus was shifting into lower and lower gears as it labored up a hill. Finding the bag of chocolate raisins, she sat up just as the bus crested the hill. The sight that met her eyes made her sit up several inches taller.

An immense, shimmering silvery sea stretched to the horizon and merged with a watercolor sky in shades of blue and gray. Sunlight, streaming from rips in the clouds, created burnished patches of light on the lustrous moving surface of the water. On the horizon, curtains of rain hung from misty clouds. Where the land and sea met, a long strand of white beach curved between two promontories of charcoal-colored rock. Trapped between the white-sand beach and steep bluff that the bus was cresting was a mosaic of wetlands. Their sinuous channels of water snaked between the muddy brown banks of small islands matted with dark green rushes and sedges. Marin took a deep breath. Even the air had changed. The stale smell of rusty bus and damp earth was gone. Clean, salty air greeted her.

The thin, wizened bus driver with a face like a walnut noticed Marin’s newfound interest in the scenery. Like any good tour bus driver dispensing bits of information, he volunteered, The locals call it the Bay of Merrymaids—or Mermaids, as you call ’em.

Why do they call it that? Marin asked, stretching her neck to get a better view of the panorama before her.

Confounds me, he replied with a wink. You’ll have to find yourself a local and ask ’em.

The resort was not what Marin had imagined. To her, the word resort conjured an image of luxury, amenities, and modernity. The Strand Resort had none of these. The turreted three-story structure, with the shingled domed roof and broad veranda facing the sea, appeared to be from the 1800s. There were no tennis courts, golf course, swimming pool, gym, spa, or horse stables. There was just the old hotel, sandwiched between the beach and the immense wild marsh that stretched back to the foot of the bluff.

The entrance of the Strand was covered by an extended roof to protect guests from rain. The roof was partially covered with red climbing roses that had ascended the support columns. Most of the roses were dried and brown, past their prime, as was the Strand itself. Marin and Gen dragged their wobbly bags across the uneven flagstone path from the driveway to the entrance of the resort.

Scanning the vast primordial wetland, Marin quipped, Great. The Creature from the Black Lagoon is going to visit us tonight.

Gen, loopy from the lack of sleep, burst into laughter. Good! A little quality time with the swamp creature will help you forget Duane.

Not mentioning Duane will help me forget Duane, Marin replied sharply. And it’s not a swamp. It’s a wetland.

I’m just kidding, Mar, Gen said apologetically. As an afterthought, she added, Somebody needs sleep, and that’s both of us.

Marin and Gen slowly walked into the cavernous lobby of the old hotel. It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the dim light. As they scanned the dark Victorian furniture, Gen recognized an elderly relative in a bright floral-print dress who was sitting on a dark green velvet sofa. The woman’s dress matched a flower arrangement that was perched behind her on a dark mahogany table. Marin had a brief sleep-deprived thought that the woman was a chameleon who had camouflaged herself to blend in with the bouquet.

Gen blurted out, Oh, Auntie Jean, how good to see you! With that, Gen loped across the lobby to hug the startled little woman.

Marin was too tired to socialize. Left standing alone in the middle of the lobby, Marin decided she would first check in and take a nap; only then would she be able to handle small talk with relatives. Otherwise she might snap at them—or pass out from exhaustion. She lugged her bulging bags across the hardwood floor and Persian carpets to the empty registration counter. Great! Marin thought to herself. I’ve come all this way, and nobody is at the counter. I can’t even get a room. Marin turned away from the burnished wood counter to watch Gen and Auntie Jean in animated conversation.

Marin scanned the enormous lobby. The vaulted ceiling must have been two stories high, yet there was a cozy, intimate feeling to the room. Maybe it was the cranberry wallpaper and the glowing cherry-wood furniture that gave it the warm feeling of an old gentlemen’s club. Or maybe it was the nooks created by the oversize furniture and potted palms. On the other side of the lobby was a doorway with a curtain of wooden beads across it. Above the doorway, a wooden sign announced in gold letters, PUB. At the far end of the lobby was a grand fireplace, almost tall enough to walk into. Marin inhaled. The faint smell of wood smoke and pot roast hung in the air. She imagined a Christmas feast set before a roaring fire while a winter storm howled outside. If she had been somewhere other than the beach at the end of summer, Marin could have spent the entire vacation curled up in a private corner with a cup of tea and a good book.

Still studying the room, Marin heard a male voice from behind her ask, Single?

Confused from the lack of sleep, Marin wondered why the hotel needed her marriage status for a room.

Single room for you, miss? the melodic voice questioned.

Marin turned around to stare into sapphire-blue eyes. The young man they belonged to had lightly tanned skin. Long, feathery black hair framed his face. His black hotel jacket parted slightly to reveal a dark blue cummerbund that perfectly matched his eyes.

Um, yes, Marin said hesitantly, nodding. She was instantly aware of what a mess she must look like with her ratted hair, wrinkled clothes, and nonexistent makeup that had smeared off on an airline pillow somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.

You and, is that Ms. Genevieve Nordland over there? he asked, looking over at Genevieve. Marin nodded again. You two are the last of the wedding-party guests to check in. We are out of rooms on the second floor, where the rest of the wedding party is staying, but I can put you in two rooms on the third floor. You will share a bathroom, if that is acceptable. He looked up questioningly from the leather-bound ledger on the counter. Thick black lashes framed his dark eyes.

Marin kept nodding. She felt like a bobblehead toy. Her exhaustion and attraction to the man in front of her made it difficult for her to form words. The striking young man stared at her, studied her, as if he were trying to decide whether she was jet-lagged or slow to understand.

I will help you with your bags, he finally said, sympathetically. We do not have an elevator, and the room is up three flights of stairs. He deftly hoisted the heavy bags.

Well, at least I’ll get my exercise here, Marin lamely joked. She thought she saw a tiny smile form at the corner of his lips, but for all she knew, she could have been hallucinating the smile. Having been awake for the last twenty-four hours, for all she knew, she could have been hallucinating the man.

As Marin followed the clerk to a grand staircase that hugged the wall, she caught Gen’s attention. Marin pointed to her bags and the stairs. Catching the gist of it, Gen nodded to her and gave her a big wave that indicated Go ahead. Auntie Jean, distracted by Gen’s waving, looked over her shoulder at Marin and waved happily to her. Marin smiled at Auntie Jean. When Marin was rested, maybe she would remember how they were related.

I can’t believe they don’t have an elevator, Marin was thinking as they neared the third-floor landing. Normally she could have bounded up the stairs, but the exhausting trip had her heart pounding. Also, she suspected that there were additional stair steps per floor because of the high ceilings. At the top of the stairs, she clung to the polished wooden banister that smelled of beeswax and lemon. Wobbly from exhaustion, she had the disturbing feeling that she could topple backward into the dimly-lit stairwell behind her.

Marin’s room was at the top of the landing. A small window shed light on the faded turquoise door. Above the door, painted in gold leaf, was 30. To the left of her room, a long hallway stretched into darkness.

The clerk pulled out of his pocket an old-fashioned metal key and proceeded to work the lock. Staring at his back, Marin saw that he had a long ponytail of thick black hair tied with an ultramarine ribbon. She thought that he must be in amazing shape to have carried her heavy bags up three flights of stairs and not be winded. He turned around and smiled at her. It was a genuine, open smile. Gathering her bags, he pushed the door open. As Marin followed him into the room, she had the fleeting fantasy that they were the couple who were to get married. Marin shook her head. Where did that come from? She had never contemplated marrying Duane. Just coexisting with Duane had been a challenge. Maybe it was the impending wedding. What did they say—there was a good possibility of meeting a potential spouse at a wedding.

Marin’s internal dialogue was interrupted by the contents of the hotel room. Scanning the room that would be hers for a week, Marin felt that she had stepped into a bygone era. The rounded wall and bay window revealed that she was in one of the turrets. Periwinkle wallpaper, the pattern faded with time, hung on the walls. In the far corner, a small single bed with a satiny shell-pink bedspread was pushed up against one wall. Next to the bed was a small wooden night stand with a wind-up clock on top of it. An antique wooden armoire covered with hand-painted scenes stood next to the door she had just come through. Best of all, the large window presented a breathtaking view of the bay. Running along the length of the window was a window seat with mint green, light coral, and turquoise pillows. This is my retreat spot, thought Marin. This is my sanctuary.

It’s charming, Marin said, a relieved smile on her face. The clerk returned her smile.

Thank you, he said sincerely. I’m Geoffrey. If you need anything, please call for me. He nodded toward a golden rope by the door and made a gesture that she should pull it to summon him. With that, he handed her the metal key; a silky turquoise ribbon dangled from it.

Slowly he said, I hope your stay is all you want it to be. It was almost a blessing. With that, he bowed ever so slightly, turned, and closed the door behind him.

Marin stood there looking at the closed door. Who is he? She shook her head. You are so tired, she thought. Go to sleep. In the morning, you can figure out if he is interested in you